


I almost lost you

by greenmage128



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e19 Hammer of the Gods, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, because it always comes back to that; goddamn it, that's it that's the progression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel was never good at taking his own advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I almost lost you

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on May 10 & 11, 2015. (Wow, am I behind.)

Crowley isn’t sure why he didn’t see it coming, between the human’s odd specificty and accuracy in summoning him, not to mention the perfect location, a back road crossroads that no one traveled, so there’d be no trace of the crime. But, no, it isn’t until he looks down at his feet and sees the devil’s trap that he realizes something is afoot.

“Bollocks.”

The hunter starts reciting the exorcism rites, and Crowley’s mind races to figure out how to get himself out of this. An exorcism wouldn’t kill him, but he liked this meatsuit, and he couldn’t have the rest of Hell knowing he got outsmarted by a human. Job security and all.

“Wait,” he says, though it does nothing in the way of making the hunter stop. “You’re not even going to give me a sob story? Something to make me feel incredibly guilty about everything I’ve done? It’s not like you have me at your complete mercy or anything. Honestly, what kind of hunter are you?”

That is enough to give the man pause, and he lowers the piece of ratty hotel stationary covered in Latin scrawl. “The kind that wants to see all monsters like you exterminated.” He snarls and steps in closer. “You conned my sister into giving you her soul, and now I’m going to make sure you feel her pain.”

“Deals are two-way streets, darling. Your sister knew what she was doing, and my terms are always clear.” Crowley could laugh, he really could. He wonders if being so easy to manipulate was part of the hunter job description. “I’m sure whatever she gave her soul up for was a noble cause.”

Something flickers in the hunter’s eyes, and he balls up the paper. Crowley is doing his best not to grin, because damn, this is too easy. The man lunges for him, growling like some kind of feral animal, but falls short of reaching him, an invisible force knocking him to the side and sending him rolling down the dirt and gravel road.

There’s a snap, loud and clear in Crowley’s ears, though the source is nowhere to be found, and the trap cracks. The hunter starts to get up, and Crowley is just putting together the pieces of how all this might be happening, when he’s no longer in the crossroads. In a blink, he finds himself safe inside one of his villas.

He would be relieved at this turn of events, but there’s a trickster standing across the living room from him, glaring daggers that could become very literal if he wasn’t careful.

“Hullo to you too, Gabriel,” Crowley says, trying to keep his tone casual.

Gabriel stares at him for a few moments more, and if he’d waited any longer Crowley might have begged him to start bloody talking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

The demon raises an eyebrow. “I was doing my job. What did it look like?”

“You could have—” Gabriel stops himself, running a hand through his hair.

There’s something else in that look, Crowley realizes, something he can’t stomach, and he pushes past the trickster, heading for his liquor cabinet. “I had it sorted,” he says as he goes by.

Gabriel grabs him by the shoulder and slams him into the nearest wall. Crowley hears the plaster buckle from the force of it, though he doesn’t dare complain, because being smote by an archangel isn’t high on his list of priorities. Not that any of that registers. Gabriel’s eyes are a dark amber now, and as much as he wants to, Crowley can’t get away from them and that look.

“You fucking _asshole_ ,” Gabriel says, holding him against the wall with both hands on his shoulders. The smiting fear amplifies and doesn’t abate when Gabriel kisses him, hard and fierce, growling and more teeth than lips.

Crowley can’t stop himself from responding to it, biting back and gripping at the trickster’s jacket as best he can, hips seeking friction and groaning when he finds he’s not the only one.

Far too soon, Gabriel regains his composure and pulls away, doing his damnedest not to look at Crowley. “Just. Be more careful, all right?.”

“Right, fine. Scout’s honor.” Crowley clears his throat and straightens, righting himself, not that it helps. From the corner of his eye, he sees Gabriel do the same and knows he’s about to fly off. He shouldn’t, but Crowley finds himself asking, “Fancy a drink?”

At last Gabriel looks up, back to his regular, smirking trickster self in a blink. “Just don’t yell at me when all your alcohol is gone in the morning.”

“Never, darling.”

* * *

White tablecloths covered in blood and the bodies of dead gods strewn across the floor. Crowley has to admit, its definitely Lucifer’s aesthetic, arrogant and merciless in its execution, though there is something artistic about the whole scene.

All the beauty vanishes when Crowley reaches the far end of the banquet hall. Here lies a body all by itself, set apart by more than just its solidarity. Scorched outlines of wings stretched out on either side of it, which Crowley is careful to avoid as he makes way round the body.

The rumors were true, then, Crowley muses, though perhaps this once he wishes his network of information wasn’t so reliable. He kneels down, less careful about getting dust or blood on his last good suit. Without thinking he reaches for the silver blade sticking out from the corpse's—Christ, that thought alone should be enough to make him scatter, yet here he is—chest.

_You could have— Just. Be more careful, all right?_

Those words ring in his ears, and his hand jerks back from the blade.

“You damn hypocrite,” Crowley hears himself saying, rage bubbling underneath his skin. But there’s too many people to blame, himself included, and nowhere for it to go without destroying what little remained of the one being Crowley could call friend, so he sits and seethes far long than is wise or safe.

And then the coin in his pocket crackles with sound, the voices of the Winchesters muffled by wool and silk. Crowley hears half of it, but he gets the gist, and it’s enough to push him onto his feet.

Before he departs, Crowley reaches for the blade again, easing it out from the wound and slipping it inside his coat. He doesn’t say goodbye, because this isn’t one, not if he has anything to say about it.


End file.
